


Cinderarcher

by ami_ven



Series: Marvel Fairy Tale Universe [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24124369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: Once upon a time, Phil was a prince and Clint was an archer who wanted to go to the ball…
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Series: Marvel Fairy Tale Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740691
Comments: 22
Kudos: 85





	Cinderarcher

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ community "writerverse" phase 21, challenge 29 (fairy tale retelling)

_Once upon a time, a young nobleman and his wife had two sons. But nobility did not guarantee wealth or happiness, and as the years went by, the family fell on hard times. The baron withdrew from his family and began to drink, and his wife fell into a deep depression. Their eldest son, left to run the failing lands, grew hard and unfeeling. One by one, the household servants were dismissed, until only the younger son was left to do the cooking and cleaning. Ignored by his parents and bullied by his brother, the young man often escaped to the woods surrounding the estate, to practice his archery…_

*

The queen looked up when the door to the dining hall opened, and smiled. “Good morning, Phillip.”

“Good morning, Mother.” Crown Prince Phillip, heir to Aquilor, only son of Queen Peggy and King Daniel, moved to sit beside her and accepted the cup of tea she poured him. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” she replied, “Considering the amount of work we have to do for the ball.”

Phil managed not to groan out loud, but his mother caught it anyway.

“It’s a tradition, Phil,” said Peggy, half of her attention on a sheaf of papers that were, apparently, ball-related. “And not for another three months.”

“More time for me to dread it,” he muttered.

Peggy smiled. “It’s not so bad, is it? That’s where your father and I fell in love, you know. We’d served together during the war, and I knew he was a good man. But after the ball, I knew he’d be a good king, as well.”

“So you’ve told me,” he said, smiling back. It really was a lovely story, and his parents were still so clearly in love. “I’m just not as… charming as you are, Mother.”

“Of course you are,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Now, about your new suit…”

Phil pushed his chair from the table. “I’m going for a ride,” he said.

“You’re not getting out of the ball, Phillip!” his mother called after him, but he chose to ignore her.

*

Clint took a deep breath and loosed his arrow. It flew straight and hit its target with a sharp crack – the rabbit crumpled, having never felt a thing. He crossed the clearing to retrieve his arrow and put the rabbit into his satchel. Clint didn’t particularly enjoy using his bow to kill, but it was the only way he had to feed his family, and to earn a little extra if he was lucky in his hunting.

Then, suddenly, there was a much louder _crack_ , the unmistakable sound of a gun going off. Anything in or under the trees took off in a hurry, which pretty much guaranteed he wasn’t going to catch anything else that day.

A sane person, Clint was sure, would have headed straight home, but as Barney often said, he was too curious for his own good. He made his way quietly toward the sound of the gunshot, hoping not to startle whoever had the weapon.

It was a man about the same age as Clint’s brother, riding a sleek red-gold horse. His clothes were plain but clearly well-made, and he carried himself the way a soldier did – at once aware of his surroundings but unconcerned for his safety. He held the gun in one hand, cleaning its barrel with a cloth, frowning at it as though it had let him down, though the still-smoking dent in a nearby tree would say otherwise.

Clint thought he had made no noise, but the man looked up suddenly, straight at him. He looked wary for a moment, then seemed to force himself to smile. “Hello,” he said. “I apologize. For the tree. I… I’m afraid I lost my temper.”

“Perhaps you should apologize to the tree, then,” said Clint.

The man was not what current fashion would call handsome, but his face was honest and his smile, when it shifted to light his blue eyes, was dazzling.

“Perhaps I should,” he agreed. “Or at least to the lord who owns these woods.”

“I—” said Clint, but caught himself just in time. His own wardrobe was not much on a regular basis, hand-me-downs from his brother, patched and re-worked after Barney had almost worn them to threads, but he’d worn his oldest and sturdiest clothes for hunting. On a good day, Barney always told him he looked too shabby and that he should never let anyone know he was really a Barton. “I’m sure nobody will even notice.”

“If you’re sure,” said the man. “And I should let you get on with your work.”

Clint didn’t know whether to be relieved or disheartened that he’d been mistaken for a servant, but the rider was still smiling at him, so he decided not to care. He smiled back and indicated his bow. “I was hunting, but I think I’m rather done for the day.”

The man’s smile fell instantly. “Then I apologize to you, sir.”

“Oh, I’m not a ‘sir’,” said Clint, and he wasn’t – a second son had no title and no inheritance. “I’m just Clint.”

“Phil,” the man replied. There was obviously a title of some kind to go with that name, either a minor nobility or a military rank, but he didn’t offer it. “Can I make it up to you?”

“You can stop apologizing,” said Clint, just to see the smile again, and he was instantly rewarded. “And maybe you can tell me what made you lose your temper.”

“It’s… complicated,” said Phil, and it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it.

But Clint wasn’t ready to let him ride off. “Tell me something, then,” he pressed. “Anything.”

Phil’s smile was back, and he slid gracefully off his horse. “I’m a good shot with a pistol,” he said. 

“As it happens,” said Clint, “I’ve got a target range set up just beyond those trees. If you care to prove yourself.”

“That sounds like a challenge, sir,” said Phil, smile brightening. “I accept.”

Phil _was_ a good shot. His flintlock pistol wasn’t nearly as accurate as Clint’s arrows, but he still hit his targets with enough precision that they’d be dead, had they been human and not wood. He was clearly educated, able to talk with confidence about anything and everything, but never once made Clint – whose own education had ended when his father’s drinking began – feel as though he was too stupid to follow.

Clint had never known the little hollow where he practiced could ring with laughter, hadn’t known that friendly competition could inspire him to even more impressive shots than he normally made, hadn’t known that a warm hand pressed to overused muscles could ease their ache.

They shot until the shadows began to lengthen, and Clint realized he should have been home already.

“I have to go,” he said, reluctantly. “Thank you, for today.”

“I should thank you,” said Phil. “This is the best time I’ve had in… a long time.”

“I come out here most days,” Clint said, before he could stop himself. “You’re welcome to come back, even if I’m not here.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Phil promised. He held out his hand. “Until next time, Clint.”

The archer took it, feeling calluses under his fingers – Phil might be a noble, but he’d worked in his time. “Until then.”

*

As much as Phil would have liked to return the very next day – and every one after that – there were responsibilities that a crown prince could just not avoid. His active military service had ended, but he still taught classes to the new recruits several days a week, in addition to the work his mother set him to help prepare for the ball.

But Phil had always been allowed time to himself, and he used every bit of it to return to the clearing where Clint practiced his archery. On clear days, the younger man was there already, usually with rabbits or game birds in his bag. When the weather was cloudy, it was hit-or-miss if Phil would see him, but the smile that lit Clint’s face when he saw Phil ride out of the trees was well worth every time he’d made the trip to find himself alone.

Despite his clear prowess at hunting, Clint never carried any food, just a battered canteen of water. Phil took to stopping by the palace kitchens on his way out, wheedling meat pies, sweet breads and other treats out of the cook. Clint tried not to look too eager in accepting them, but Phil refused to let him refuse, and after only a few weeks, he began to look healthier.

He could read and write, Phil learned, after mentioning that he’d leave a note the next time he was there alone, and Phil’s suspicions about the other man began to solidify. Clint talked about the land as though he had a responsibility to it, but not the authority to guarantee anything. It had taken some late-night searching through the palace records to confirm that the archery range was set up on Barton lands, and that the rarely-seen baron had, in fact, had two sons.

Not that Phil mentioned any of his findings – no more than he mentioned that he was the crown prince. They had met as simply two men, and it was a connection he desperately needed. His only other friends, General Nick Fury and Captain Melinda May, were out with the Army, and there was no one else he could talk with on an equal level. Phil often had to be a bit vague with his details, but he could talk to Clint about how he really felt, his worries and hopes, the things he was afraid of. And Clint confided his own feelings, often just as vague but always genuine.

Phil was beginning to feel like he’d never really known anyone before he’d met Clint, not even Nick or Melinda.

*

Clint usually spent as much time as possible out in the grounds of the Barton estate, but now he had added incentive. Phil only came a few days a week, not always the same ones, but it was well worth the long walk just to find a note, let alone the man himself.

Really, he was still a little surprised every time Phil showed up – Clint honestly hadn’t recognized him that first day, and it had taken an off-hand comment from his brother later that night (something about possibly selling some of their small harvest to the palace?) for Clint to realize that the plain, steady man he’d been spending time with was the _crown prince_.

But Phil hadn’t said anything, and Clint was familiar with the reasons a person might not be entirely honest about their identity. So, he wouldn’t mention that he knew Phil was a prince and hopefully, Phil would never ask what Clint’s real position in Barton really was.

And when it was just the two of them, shooting arrows in his range or simply talking, it was only too easy for Clint to forget that the outside world existed at all.

Apparently, though, it was harder for Phil to forget. As the weeks turned into months of infrequent visits to fief Barton, the prince clearly had something on his mind. He tried not to let it show, but Clint could see that he was becoming increasingly distracted.

Still, the archer had been planning to say something, until a palace messenger came to Barton Manor. He should probably have been insulted that the man had mistaken him for a servant, but Clint knew how he looked and simply took the thick parchment envelope.

It was an invitation, delicate calligraphy on cream-colored parchment, to a ball at the palace. 

With this last piece of information, everything made sense. 

Phil had made it seem that he was a minor army official at the palace – not lies, just a careful arrangement of truth that would have led Clint to a certain conclusion, if he hadn’t already known the other man’s identity. Since Clint had done exactly the same thing, he didn’t hold it against Phil. 

But knowing that Phil _was_ the prince, an unmarried heir who was closer to middle age than he liked to admit, Clint also knew what this ball was really about. In addition to the noble families of Aquilor who were usually invited to these sorts of things, he was sure that the guests would include a particularly high number of marriageable ladies.

Clearly, Phil wasn’t looking forward to the ball. When Clint tentatively brought it up, the prince snorted a laugh.

“Yes, my presence will be required,” Phil said. “I know why I have to go, and I even agree with it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“What, you won’t enjoy dancing with all the pretty girls?” teased Clint.

Phil smiled. “I’m not that good a dancer, I’m afraid. And everyone thinks Royal Balls are glamorous, but they’re really quite boring. Making small talk, remembering the dance steps, tiny food…”

“There’s food at those things?”

“That’s not the draw you think it is,” Phil said, then sighed. “I’ll go and dance and do my duty. But I’m sure it would be more enjoyable if I had a friend there.”

Clint frowned. “Your friends aren’t invited?”

“Oh, they’re invited,” said Phil. “But they’re all officers in the Aquiloran army and always seem to be out on patrol during events like these.”

“Maybe you need better friends,” said Clint, smiling.

Phil smiled back. “Maybe I’ve already found one.”

*

“A little higher on the left,” said Phil, and the footman hanging the left side of the banner obligingly lifted it. “Perfect.”

The sound of heels on the flagstone floor announced the arrival of Queen Peggy, who entered the room already speaking, “Now we just have to hang those… banners.”

She paused, looking around at the mostly-decorated ballroom. 

“Phillip? Should I be suspicious of this sudden helpfulness?”

He smiled. “Really, Mother, I’ve been helping you plan this ball for weeks now.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But usually under duress.”

“That’s not always true,” protested Phil.

The queen arched an eyebrow. “I recall several years where I had to _order_ you to return to the palace in time for the ball.”

“I’ve always had my duties,” he said, keeping a neutral expression. “Now, I simply have more time available to help with this.”

“Mmm-Hmm,” his mother said. “Then this wouldn’t have anything to do with the person you’ve been sneaking off to meet in the woods?”

“I—” Phil faltered.

Peggy smiled and touched his arm. “If you’re happy, Phillip, _I’m_ happy. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

“I know, Mother.”

“Still, I’d hoped you might feel you could introduce that person to your loving, supportive parents before _now_ , to whom you’ve mentioned absolutely nothing about this.”

“I—” Phil said again, then sighed. “I’m not keeping anything from you, but it’s not all mine to tell.”

“I’m not trying to pry out your secrets, love,” his mother said. “This person, they make you happy?”

Phil smiled. “He does.”

“Ah,” she said. “Because you know that doesn’t matter. To be honest, your father and I had come to the conclusion that you might never marry, and the line of succession will be secure with your cousin. So, there’s no pressure.”

“Thank you,” said Phil, dryly. “But I don’t think we’re anywhere near _that_ point. He doesn’t even know who I am. No – he knows me better than anyone has, but he doesn’t know I’m the prince. And I don’t know how to tell him. Or what will happen when I do.”

“The truth always comes out somehow,” Peggy said. “Be honest and patient, and it will all work out.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said. “In the meantime, I could use a distraction. So, why don’t you let me finish getting everything ready?”

“I thought I’d be happier to hear you say that,” she said, then leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Did you invite your young man to the ball?”

“Yes,” said Phil. “But I don’t think he’ll come.”

“Never give up hope,” Peggy told him. “He might surprise you.”

*

Clint figured that the last formal suit he’d owned wouldn’t do for the upcoming Ball. It wasn’t so much that the cut was twenty years out of style, but that he’d been about twelve at the time, and he’d grown a bit since then.

Buying a new suit was completely out of the question, but Clint seemed to recall a trunk of old clothes tucked away in the attic. There were mostly dresses, yards of frills and ruffles in faded colors, but folded neatly at the bottom of the trunk, he found a man’s suit. It was so out of fashion that it must have been his great-grandfather’s, but it was good-quality fabric that had held up well over the years. With a few repairs to the seams and a little taking in – Great-Grandpa Barton had been slightly heftier than Clint – it would certainly do.

Repairing the suit was more difficult than the slap-dash mending Clint usually did to his clothes, and he was glad he’d started several days before the ball, because it took until that morning to get it perfect. 

The carriage and horses had long since been sold, so Clint had planned to walk to the palace. It was a short route through the woods, and if he kept to the path, he’d still be reasonably presentable when he arrived. Just thinking about the walk made him hungry, though, so Clint set the finished suit carefully on his bed, then went to get his bow and catch himself an early supper.

Only, his bow wasn’t anywhere to be found.

He kept it in the armory – or, what had been the armory, when Barton was a fortified manor, but what was now a mostly-empty room full of rusted swords and broken shields. His bow had been in similarly bad condition, but Clint had worked hard to get it back to its former glory. On occasion, he’d left it in his bedroom overnight, but he’d just come from there and he hadn’t used the bow for the last few days.

Clint searched everywhere, but couldn’t find it. Finally, he gave up on a freshly-caught supper and went to put on his suit, making sure to scrub the traces of his bread-and-cheese snack from his hands before he touched the fabric. He’d done a good job on the suit and it fit well. He checked his reflection in the sliver of mirror on his dresser and grinned – he looked pretty good. 

Before he headed out, Clint decided to take one last look around the manor for his bow – he hated not knowing where it was – and ran into his brother, coming from his rooms in the other wing.

Barney was dressed up, too, and his suit was _much_ nicer than Clint’s. The two brothers stared at each other for a moment, until their parents emerged from the corridor behind Barney, both of them also wearing new, formal clothing.

“We’re going to be late,” snapped Lord Barton, words slurred – he was drunk, as usual. Then, he caught sight of his youngest son. “What do you think you’re doing, boy?”

Clint froze. “I—”

“It doesn’t matter.” His mother sounded drunk, too. “We need to go.”

“The carriage should be waiting outside,” said Barney.

“Carriage?” Clint repeated. “We don’t have a carriage… and where did you get those clothes?”

His father scowled. “I will not be questioned in my own house.”

“We don’t have the money for fancy clothes,” said Clint, with growing suspicion. “We haven’t had money for years. And my bow is missing.”

“ _Your_ bow?” demanded Lord Barton. “Everything in this house is mine, boy, and I’ll sell it if I need to. Not that it was worth much, barely enough for these rags.”

Clint drew in a sharp, angry breath. “That bow has been feeding this family for years.”

“I have been feeding this family!” his father roared. “I have worked, day and night, to provide for this family, and this is the thanks I get? Accused and harassed by my lazy excuse for a son? Your brother pulls his weight around here, boy. He supervises the farms, collects the rent, keeps this house working.”

“This house is falling apart,” said Clint. “The farms are barely sustaining our tenants, you raise the rent then drink it all away. And now you’re heading off to a party at the palace to… what? To hide the fact that we’ve squandered our fortune _and_ our nobility?”

“How dare you?” Lord Barton snarled. “And what are you dressed up for, boy?” he demanded, then barked a laugh. “You don’t think you’re coming with us, do you?”

“I’m hoping to speak with the prince,” added Barney, going for a sympathetic tone and almost managing it. “I had some ideas for the riverside farm, and I plan to ask for his help.”

Lord Barton clapped his eldest son’s shoulder. “See? Your brother has plans.”

“His plans are what bankrupted us,” said Clint. “And it’s been everything I could do—”

“Everything _you_ could do?” his father repeated, voice dangerously low.

“Harold, please,” said Lady Barton, faintly.

Her husband ignored her. “I have clearly been too lenient with you, boy, and it’s long past time I put you in your place.”

“Father…” said Barney.

Clint glanced at his brother – and that was the distraction their father needed. He swung, his fist connecting with his son’s jaw Clint hit the stone wall, hard, knocking the wind out of him. Lord Barton used the opportunity to grab his arm, using his larger bulk to haul Clint upright and drag him down the hallway.

“After everything I’ve done for you,” his father growled. “This will teach you to talk to me like that!”

Before Clint could get his breath back, Lord Barton opened a heavy wooden door and threw his son inside. It was an old butler’s pantry, where silverware had once been locked for safekeeping, and Clint struggled to his feet just as the heavy lock thunked into place.

“Hey!” Clint yelled. He pounded on the door, but it didn’t open again and he collapsed against the wall.

He hadn’t even wanted to go to the ball, but he’d wanted to be there for Phil, to see him again before he chose a bride and settled down, with no more time for Clint. And now he’d made his father so angry, he’d probably be stuck in this closet for days. Or worse.

Clint swiped at his eyes, furiously trying not to cry.

In the far corner of the room, the shadows began to swirl, expanding even into the shafts of light from around the doorframe, twisting and rising until they formed the shape of a woman. She wore the darkness like a cloak, contrasting with the pallor of her skin and the red of her hair, rising up into wings behind her back. Her gown was black, edged with onyx and rubies, 

Clint smiled. “Natasha.”

The woman’s dark expression lightened. “What trouble have you found now, little bird?”

Natasha looked exactly as she had when they had met. Clint had been six years old, lost in the woods surrounding the manor after running from his drunken father and he hadn’t known to be scared of a Dark Fairy. She had come to help him often when he’d been a child, but he hadn’t seen her in so long that he’d started to wonder if he’d imagined her.

“You know me, Nat, I’m always in trouble.”

“But always for very good reason,” she said, and held out a hand to help him up. “You have a good heart, Clint.”

“No offense, but I’m not sure you’re the best judge of that.”

Natasha grinned wickedly. “Perhaps. Now, little bird, what were you all dressed up for?”

It was the same question his father had asked, but her voice was kind. 

Clint looked down at his suit, and sighed. The seam had split on the right shoulder, and there was small rips and tears along the sleeve and pant leg where he’d hit the wall. “I was going to a ball,” he said, with a hollow laugh.

The Dark Fairy arched an eyebrow. “A ball?”

“I… I made friends with Crown Prince Phillip,” said Clint. “I don’t expect anything from him, Nat, really. But he’s supposed to find a wife at the ball and he was saying that none of his friends ever go to them with him, and I just wanted to be there for him. My suit wasn’t much to begin with, but if you can get me out of this closet, I can still make it to the ball. I know there’s rules about your magic, but you can do that much, right?”

“Oh, Clint,” said Natasha, softly.

She raised a hand, blood-red magic gathering in her palm, and in a flash, they were standing in the empty hall of Barton Manor.

Clint grinned. “I’d forgotten how cool that is. Thanks, Nat.”

“Wait,” she said. “You can’t go like that.”

He frowned. “Nat?”

Natasha squared her shoulders. “What kind of Dark Fairy would I be if I couldn’t bend the rules? You’re going to the ball, Clint, and you’re going in style. Starting with that suit.”

“What…?” he began, but her magic surrounded him again. When Clint looked, his old tattered suit had been transformed into a brand-new suit. It was a deep, deep purple, and not that Clint knew much about fashion, but it seemed pretty stylish. “This is amazing!”

She smiled and led him outside, where another swirl of dark magic conjured a horse and carriage, complete with driver and footman. At first, they appeared insubstantial, made of black fire, but after a moment, they settled into more earthly shapes.

Clint stroked the horse’s muzzle. “Aren’t you sweet?”

“That is a demonic hell beast,” Natasha said, dryly. “But I think he likes you.”

He gave the animal one more pat, then turned to her. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet, there’s one more thing.” She lifted her hand, showing him what she held. “I found this in your pocket.”

“I… it’s nothing,” said Clint, taking the stone. It was nothing special, just a purplish river stone, but Phil had thought he’d like it. “Just…”

Natasha’s magic swirled over his hand. He felt the stone lift, then a weight settle around his wrist – when the darkness cleared, he saw a bracelet on his right wrist, centering the river stone above his pulse point.

“Call your bow to you,” she said.

“Oh,” said Clint. “Nat, Father sold my bow.”

“Another thing for him to answer for,” Natasha said, darkly.

He rested a hand on her arm. “No, please. They’re still my family.”

“Because _you_ ask it,” she said. “But I don’t mean that bow, Clint. Call it, with your mind.”

Frowning, he held out his hand, willing to indulge her. To his surprise, silver light pooled around his hand, gleaming as it formed the shape of a stringed bow.

“Pull back the string and an arrow will appear,” said Natasha. 

He drew, forming an arrow as silver as the bow, then released it, the bow dissolving back into his bracelet in a swirl of light. “This is…” Clint gave up on words and threw his arms around Natasha.

The Dark Fairy tensed, then relaxed into the hug. “Using my magic like this won’t last,” she said, when he pulled away again. “At the stroke of midnight, all will be as it was.”

“That’ll be plenty,” said Clint, grinning at her. “Thank you, Natasha.”

She smiled back and helped him into the carriage. “Go to your prince.”

*

Phil bowed to his latest partner, a young noblewoman who hadn’t said a single word while they’d danced, and retreated back to the throne dais. 

“You’ve gotten better,” his father said, smiling. “You used to be such an awkward child…”

“I’ve never liked dancing, and you know it,” said Phil, but he accepted a glass of punch. “At least Mother is having fun.”

Queen Peggy had opened the dancing, with Phil as her partner, and she had been waltzing across the ballroom ever since. Phil had taken his share of turns with other partners, as well, but he would never love it the way his mother did.

“She was born to dance,” King Daniel said, softly. “I couldn’t keep up, even if I didn’t have a bum leg.”

He had been injured during the war, long before Phil had been born. The carved wooden cane was enough support that he could walk without pain, but dancing was out of the question.

“I notice you’ve had no shortage of partners,” the king continued. “And most of them attractive young ladies…”

Phil scowled. “I hope that wasn’t your doing.”

“No, no,” said his father. “Though, if you _had_ found someone – not necessarily a young woman, just someone who made you happy – your mother and I would only be happy for you.”

“I know,” said Phil. “I just—”

The herald, at the door of the ballroom, knocked his staff against the marble floor and announced, “His Highness, Prince Nobody of Nowhere.”

“Wait, no…” said a faint voice from beside him, and Phil was moving before he’d realized he was doing it.

He almost didn’t recognize the man that had just been announced – he was scrubbed clean, for one – but there was no mistaking those blue eyes or those shoulders, even in such a crisp suit.

Clint looked up to see Phil approaching and stumbled into a bow, “Your Highness.”

Phil caught his elbow to keep him from falling. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Me?” squeaked Clint. “I’m not – I didn’t—”

“Clint,” said Phil, smiling, then used his grip on Clint’s arm to steer him toward the dance floor, “Your family doesn’t know you’re here, do they?”

He had spotted Lord and Lady Barton, the former constantly refilling his glass, the latter flitting nervously at her husband’s side, and had skillfully avoided their oldest son, who he’d overheard was looking for him.

“I don’t—” Clint tried again, then sighed. “No, they don’t. How long have you known who I was?”

“Since about a month after our first meeting,” said Phil. “How long have _you_ known?”

Clint managed a smile. “It took me a while longer – I’m not as smart as you.”

“Of course you are. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“I’m not—”

“Would you care to dance?” Phil interrupted.

“What?”

“Dance,” repeated Phil. “With me.”

Clint smiled, more genuine this time. “I’d love to dance with you.”

The prince led them out onto the dance floor. A waltz started, and Phil took the lead, trying not to dwell on how right Clint felt in his arms.

“So,” Clint said, after a moment. “Which one’s your first choice?”

Phil frowned. “Which one what?”

“Eligible maidens,” said Clint, sounding equally confused. “Well, okay, maybe not maidens, that’s a rude thing to assume. But… wasn’t that the point of this ball? To find you a wife?”

“What?” Phil repeated. “Who told you that?”

“No one, I guess. But you said your friends never come to these, and you weren’t real enthusiastic about being here, and I guess I just…”

Phil smiled. “There’s no wife. And there probably won’t be. At least, not if I’m reading this right.”

Clint ducked his head. “I…”

The music stopped abruptly – the dancers stumbled to a stop as well, as grumbles went up among the guests. Queen Peggy strode over to the musicians, “What is the meaning of this?”

The High Chancellor, Sir John of Garrett, stood by the musicians’ platform, smiling darkly. “I’m glad you asked, Your Majesty. You see, there are going to be some changes in Aquilor, and the ball seemed like the best place to announce them.”

King Daniel joined his wife, scowling. “You forget yourself, Garrett”

“I know exactly who I am,” the chancellor said. “I’ve been pretending to be someone else for too long. Bowing and scraping to people who only claim the right to rule us because they’ve been born to the right family. But that ends tonight.”

“John, what are you talking about?” said Queen Peggy. 

He grinned. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m overthrowing you.” Garrett raised his staff. “Hail Hydra!”

The doors to the hall burst open. People at the edges of the ballroom screamed and retreated toward the center as a dozen black-clad figures, carrying swords and maces, entered the room.

“Hail Hydra,” they replied – and so did some of the guests who had been at the ball.

“Jasper?” said Phil.

The Assistant Minister of State accepted a sword from one of the intruders. “It’s nothing personal, Phil,” said Jasper of Sitwell. “This plan has been in motion since before either of us was born.”

“And it will be so much easier if you come quietly,” added Garrett.

Queen Peggy leveled him with a look. “And how likely do you think that is?”

Garrett scowled. “Fine, we’ll do this the hard way.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I expect we will.” The queen reached into a pocket of her gown, “Phil, get your father out of here.”

Before Garrett could react, she had pulled out a dagger and thrown it, the blade lodging deep in his shoulder. He yelped, then shouted, “Attack!”

Chaos erupted immediately. The Hydra soldiers advanced, but quite a few Aquiloran formal outfits included swords among their accessories, and a battle was underway. 

Phil drew his own sword, then hooked his other hand under King Daniel’s elbow to help him along. “Clint, this way,” he said.

But Clint shook his head. “Get the civilians to safety, I’ll stay here and help.”

“Help?” Phil repeated. “But you don’t have a—” The silver bracelet on Clint’s wrist glowed, then a silver bow appeared in his hand. “—weapon.”

“My fairy godmother gave it to me,” said Clint, grinning. “Go.”

Phil smiled, softly. “We’ll talk later. Can you make us a path to those doors?”

“Done.” Clint raised the bow and an arrow appeared on the string. “Good luck.”

“I…” Phil began, then darted in to kiss him, a quick press of lips he hoped was a promise of more. “You, too.”

Clint blinked. “You…” he began, but one of the Hydra soldiers came toward them, sword raised, and he loosed an arrow. “Later, right? Go.”

“He’s right,” said King Daniel. “Our duty is to our people. Your mother and your young man can handle this.”

“I…” Phil said again, but they were right. Queen Peggy was already pointing the other civilians in their direction – one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting took the king’s other arm, and they hurried out of the ballroom, through the stone tunnels beneath the palace, leaving the sounds of battle behind them.

*

Clint had wanted a chance to test the magical arrows Natasha had given him, but he hadn’t thought it would be quite so soon. The bow worked wonderfully, even if this fight was closer quarters than it was meant for. 

With the civilians out of the way, the fighters could spread out, the clang of sword-on-sword echoing through the ballroom. Clint found himself by the throne dais, beside Queen Peggy, who held a well-worn sword and knew how to use it.

“So,” she said, grinning as she parried the blow from a Hydra soldier. “You’re Phil’s young man.”

Clint loosed an arrow at another. “I, um…”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the queen said, “I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Right,” he agreed.

The doors at the far end of the ballroom, which the Hydra soldiers had barred behind them, burst open again. This time, it was the Royal Army, with Phil in the lead.

Trapped between the two Aquiloran forces, the Hydra soldiers showed no signs of surrender. They were vastly outnumbered and fell, one by one, retreating toward the center of the room as their numbers dwindled.

Queen Peggy approached them. “Surrender, John,” she said, softly. 

Garrett looked at his soldiers, only two left besides him, all three of them wounded – he nodded, and they all attacked in unison.

Queen Peggy blocked the strike from one man’s sword, but couldn’t have deflected all three. The nearest Aquilorans were still out of range to defend her, but Clint wasn’t. He loosed an arrow, catching Garrett in the thigh and sending him tumbling to the flagstone floor, as Queen Peggy and the leader of the Army officers dispatched the other two soldiers.

The queen held her sword to the former chancellor’s chest. “Surrender,” she repeated.

“Hail Hydra,” said Garrett, and pulled a vial from his tunic. He tipped it into his mouth, then crumpled before anyone else could move.

Phil knelt beside him. “Dead. Poison, looks like.”

“Search the grounds,” ordered Queen Peggy. The lead officer, a tall man with an eye patch, turned to dispatch some of his people, but she caught his arm. “Can you trust these soldiers, General Fury?”

The man regarded her with his one eye. “It wasn’t Prince Phil who alerted us, Your Majesty,” he said. “He just met us coming in. Hydra, in our own damn army. I’ve got six dead, a dozen more wounded, and that’s just at the palace. Fitz and Simmons are getting mage messages from every outpost and guard tower in the kingdom that aren’t any better.”

“You aren’t to blame, general,” said Queen Peggy. “None of knew what was festering right under our noses.”

Fury nodded. “We’ve secured the palace. I suggest we send mage messages to Stark and Asgard – either they’re facing the same problem or they’ll be able to help.”

“Do it,” she said. “And the king?”

“With Captain May,” said Phil. “Is everyone all right?”

His mother smiled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a fight, but I still remember how it goes. Although, I do owe a specific thank you to your young man. Prince Nobody from Nowhere, I believe?”

Clint froze. “I, uh…”

Before he could come up with an excuse or explanation, the large clock in the courtyard began striking the hour. 

“Aw, midnight, no,” he breathed, then said, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Go?” Queen Peggy repeated. “You must stay here, we don’t know where it’s safe.”

The clock continued to strike.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, really,” said Clint. He flexed his fingers and his bow dissolved back into its bracelet as he began backing toward the door. “But I can’t stay. I – I just can’t.”

“Clint…” said Phil, softly, and caught Clint’s wrist, gently.

“Thank you,” Clint said, squeezing Phil’s hand, then pulling away. “And I’m sorry.”

He turned and raced out of the room, feeling Natasha’s magic fade from him. No one made any attempt to stop him, and he kept running until he reached Barton manor, dressed in a dirty, ragged suit.

*

As Clint ran from the ballroom, Phil started after him, but his mother caught his arm.

“Let him go,” she said, softly. “Duty before love, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t…” Phil began, but she arched an eyebrow and he sighed. “Was I that obvious?”

“Hell, yes,” muttered Fury. “But Her Majesty’s right, we don’t have time for that now. We should have gotten messages from any of our stations capable of sending them, by now. Speak of the devil.”

A young man raced into the hall and passed Fury a stack of papers before doubling over, out of breath – Fitz, one of the mages who had been receiving messages.

“Sir,” he wheezed, and Fury took the pages, rifling through them quickly.

“Almost everyone has checked in,” the general said. “Morse at Northwatch, Hand in Upper Crest, and Mackenzie at Fort Eagle – they’ve put down Hydra attacks. They’re sending units to the nearest commands. Triplett in South Harbor and Mace in Lake Honor are still fighting, but aren’t requesting help. That still leaves a dozen more who _do_ need help, and six we haven’t heard anything from.”

“Including Princess Daisy?” asked Queen Peggy.

Fury nodded, “I’m afraid so, Your Majesty.”

“Phil, that’s where you’ll go,” the queen said, then turned to Fury, “Phil is going south to Zephyr, and the regions our people have held are mostly in the north. So, I’ll take the commands to the east, and you’ll take the west, General Fury.”

“Mother…” protested Phil.

She smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Go and make sure your cousin is all right. The sooner we rid our country of Hydra, the sooner you can go find your prince.”

“ _Mother_ …”

“Get some sleep,” said Queen Peggy. “We set out at dawn.”

Phil did manage to sleep, but only because he’d taught himself to sleep when he could during his years with the army. The three groups of riders were ready as the sun began to rise over the courtyard walls, and Phil swung himself into Lola’s saddle, trying to settle his mind.

He’d sent a palace runner with a note to leave at Clint’s archery range, but he wished he could explain in person. The way Clint had left, Phil wasn’t sure they entirely understood each other, and he wanted the chance to set things right. But thinking about Clint would be a distraction on his current mission, and he needed to be clear-headed.

As they crested the hill leading to the fortification of Zephyr, Phil was relieved to see the Aquiloran flag still flying, but he didn’t relax his guard until they’d ridden into the courtyard and a familiar figure hurtled toward him.

Daisy threw her arms around Phil almost before he’d dismounted, but when she pulled back again, his cousin’s expression was concerned. “Aunt Peggy and Uncle Daniel?” she asked.

“Both safe,” said Phil. “What about you?”

She scowled. “It was Grant,” she said, and Phil pulled her in for another hug.

Captain Grant Ward was – had been – the head of the Princess’s Guard, one of the most trusted officers in the Aquiloran Army. Phil had also had his suspicions that his cousin’s childhood crush on Ward might not have been as ‘totally over’ as she claimed, which made his being Hydra all the more a betrayal.

Instead of mentioning any of that, he asked, “Why didn’t you send a message, tell us you were all right?”

Daisy’s scowl deepened. “Ward broke all of our communication mirrors,” she said. “Deke is still trying to spell the regular mirrors we could find, but he only just finished when you rode up.”

“I know it’s not his area of expertise,” Phil agreed. “Maybe you should cut him some slack.”

“He was pretty good in the fight,” conceded Daisy, then shook her head. “I just can’t believe we didn’t see it coming. We did get _your_ messages, Phil – why didn’t we ever suspect?”

He hugged her again. “Because if we had, we’d be no better than Hydra.”

“Maybe,” she said. Daisy took a deep breath. “Okay, so I know we’ve just been attacked, by people we trusted who tried to kill us and there might be a few more who are still trying to kill us, but… did the Ball last long enough for your mystery man to show up?”

Phil only just managed not to groan. “How do you know about that?”

She smiled, teasing but genuine. “Aunt Peggy and I don’t just talk about strategy and diplomacy when I check in,” she said, then added more seriously, “We’re happy for you, you know. If you’ve found someone.”

“That’s exactly what Mother said,” he told her, with a wry smile. “I… I’d like to think so. But I have a lot to do before I can find out.”

This time, Daisy hugged him. “If you like him, Phil, he must be something special.”

“He is.”

“Hey!” called a voice from the rampart above – Deke, Zephyr’s resident mage. “Hey, I think I got it working!”

The magicked communications mirror was working, and they set up a two-way spell to the palace. King Daniel was relieved to see that Daisy was unharmed, and was able to pass along messages from Queen Peggy and General Fury about their progress. There was no answer from the Kingdom of Stark, which was troubling, but just as Phil and Daisy returned to the courtyard, a glowing rune appeared on the dirt beneath their feet. The light intensified, until it formed the shape of Lord Heimdall, the messenger of Asgard.

His image bowed. “ _Greetings._ ”

“Uh, greetings,” said Phil.

Heimdall flickered. “ _Prince Phillip. Forgive me, but I must be brief. Asgard has received your message. The Allfather regrets that he cannot send any warriors to your aid, but our kingdom is engaged in battle with the Ice Giants of Jotunheim, and we have no one to spare._ ”

“Jotunheim?” Daisy repeated. “You don’t have any Hydra?”

“ _None, Your Highness. If we are victorious, we may yet be able to aid your cause._ ”

“Thank you,” said Phil. “And please pass our gratitude to Odin and Frigga.”

The image bowed again, and vanished.

“Those guys are weird,” muttered Daisy. “And we won’t be getting reinforcements. You’d better head out, then, Phil. We’re secure here, and I’m sure you’re needed elsewhere.”

He smiled. “When did you get so wise, little cousin?”

She snorted, unladylike. “I’ve always been wise, you just never noticed. Go on. Defeat Hydra, save our kingdom, then go and find your man.”

“He isn’t _my_ …” Phil began, then scowled at her teasing smile. “I’m going.”

With Zephyr secure, Phil’s unit rode out the next day for the surrounding fortifications. He was heartened that there were fewer hidden Hydra groups than he’d feared and that, overall, they had been soundly defeated by his own people.

Still, there were far too many burial services. As representative of the Crown, Phil felt it was his duty to say a few words at each ceremony. Twice, they were attacked on the road, so when the mage message finally came through from the Kingdom of Stark, Phil was in no state of mind to hear that their king was missing, presumed kidnapped.

Phil and King Anthony had grown up together, quasi-friends in the way only heirs to a throne could be, and it was easy for Captain Morse to convince Phil to leave the rest of the check-ins to her while his unit rode toward Stark.

A second mage message caught them nearly at the border. Virginia Potts – Pepper to her friends, Lady Chamberlain of Stark – looked tired but she was smiling as her image in the mirror said, “ _We found him._ ”

Phil let out a sigh of relief. “Then he’s all right?”

“ _I wouldn’t exactly say that_ ,” said Pepper. “ _But he’s safe and home and now I can worry about you._ Hydra, _Phil?_ ”

“I can hardly believe it,” he said, “and I’ve been fighting them for the last three months. They were right under our noses, for _decades_.”

“ _I know you’re blaming yourself, and you shouldn’t. Your message said that Their Majesties and Princess Daisy were all right._ ”

“But there are plenty of people who aren’t. In fact, Mother wouldn’t have been, if it hadn’t been for—”

“ _For?_ Pepper prompted.

Phil shook his head – he hadn’t let himself think about Clint while they were dealing with Hydra, but now that they were mostly defeated, and Tony was safe…

Looking up to realize Pepper was still waiting, he said, “Please tell Tony I wish him well.”

She smiled. “ _I will. Take care, Your Highness._ ”

“Good day, Lady Chamberlain,” Phil replied.

He had just put the communications mirror back into its padded pouch and had moved to return it to his saddlebag, when he heard the sound of approaching horses. When he saw the lead rider, he frowned.

“Nick? What are you doing here?”

“Came to get you,” said Fury, drawing his horse to a stop beside Phil. “Her Majesty is taking care of the last few forts on the eastern border, so she sent me to join the search in Stark.”

Phil smiled. “I just spoke to Lady Pepper. Tony’s been found, he’s home.”

“Then that’s where we should be.”

“Home,” agreed Phil. He mounted Lola and fell into stride beside Fury, finally allowing his thoughts to wander.

*

Clint expected someone to follow him as he fled from the palace ballroom, but no one did.

He felt Natasha’s magic fade – his beautiful suit was gone by the time he reached the outer walls and his demonic carriage had disappeared, leaving only a charred circle on the lawn. He had made it all the way home, his suit in even worse shape, when he realized that the silver bracelet _hadn’t_ vanished.

He found a piece of cloth to wrap around it when he changed back into his everyday clothes, then went to break the lock to the butler’s closet so he had an excuse to not still be in there when his family got home.

He might have saved himself the effort – his father was too drunk to notice anything, his mother too distracted. Only Barney seemed to register Clint’s continued presence at all, and he didn’t do more than brush past him on the way to his room, leaving Clint alone in the empty hall.

And alone was how he stayed.

The scheme Barney had wanted to talk to Phil about had apparently been his last one – he didn’t speak Clint for days after the ball, then proceeded to get as drunk as their father and generally stay that way.

With his bow gone, Clint had no means to go hunting. He thought about going to his archery range anyway, but he wasn’t ready to face it without Phil.

Clint hadn’t planned to see Phil again after the ball, expecting him to be busy with the wife Clint thought he’d be choosing. But then, Phil had been waiting for Clint at the ball, he’d said there wouldn’t be a wife, he’d _kissed_ him.

And then vanished.

Not that Clint blamed him for that. Phil was a soldier and a prince, and those duties came first. But maybe, there was a part of him that was hoping their friendship – and that kiss – meant as much to Phil as it did to him. 

Because as soon as Phil left, the rumors had started. At first, the talk was all about Hydra – understandable, since everyone had thought them long-gone. But people’s need for gossip was a powerful thing, and soon they had turned to exaggerated accounts of the fight in the ballroom, then on to the mysterious prince who had captured their own prince’s heart – by the time Phil had been gone three months, the night Clint had experienced was almost unrecognizable in their stories.

“They say it was love at first sight,” said the baker, when Clint traded his time hauling flour sacks for some bread. 

“They say the mysterious prince saved the queen’s life,” said the grocer, when Clint traded his time stacking boxes for some fruits and vegetables.

“They say he’s the best archer in the known realms,” said the chandler, when Clint traded his time sorting colored waxes for some new candles.

“They say Prince Phillip is searching the entire kingdom, looking for him,” said the butcher, when Clint traded his skill with a knife for some cuts of beef and pork.

“And where have you been?” demanded Lord Barton, when Clint returned. “Where did you get those things?”

“I worked for them,” said Clint. He set his crate of bartered goods on the bench just inside the door of the hall, a rickety piece of furniture too broken to have been sold. “The same as I have every week.”

“Work?” his father repeated, stumbling into the doorframe as he entered from his wing. “No son of this house will _work_.”

He sneered the last word, and Clint lost his temper. “Am I your son now? Because from the way I’m treated, I’d think I was nothing more than a servant.” 

Lord Barton turned purple with rage. “How dare you, you—!”

The distant rumble of approaching horses was echoed by footsteps from the corridor. “Father!” cried Barney, skidding to a stop, “Father, it’s the prince!”

“What!?” Lord Barton whirled, his youngest son forgotten. “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” said Barney. He went to the washbasin to soak a cloth with cold water and passed it to his father. “But we should make a good impression.”

“Yes,” the older man agreed, wiping his face. “How fortunate I am to have _a_ son.”

Barney shot his brother a strange look, then lead their father out into the courtyard. 

Through the narrow hall window, Clint could see the horses arrive – Phil, looking like the prince he was, riding Lola at the head of a dozen uniformed army officers.

“Your Highness.” He could only just hear his father’s voice, steady but slurred. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Good evening, Lord Barton,” said Phil, dismounting. “I’ve come to speak with your son.”

“Yes, of course,” his father replied, gesturing Barney to stand beside him. “You must want to talk about his plans to expand our farming endeavors…”

“Actually,” said Phil, smiling pleasantly, “I’m here to see your _younger_ son.”

Lord Barton snorted. “I knew that boy would get himself in trouble, but I didn’t think he’d do something bad enough to get the crown prince after him. Whatever you want that wretch for, Your Highness, he’s yours and good riddance.”

The words weren’t surprising, but Clint found that they hurt, anyway. Phil, though, continued to wear that bland smile.

“I hope you mean that, sir,” he said. “Because I mean to marry Clint, if he’ll have me.”

“What?” said Clint, in unison with his father and brother outside.

Phil looked up, hope on his face. “Clint?”

Clint took a deep breath and opened the door. “Hi.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, then Phil was at his side, taking Clint’s hands in both of his own. “I’m sorry,” the prince said. “I should have taken the hint when you didn’t reply, but I couldn’t let you go without seeing you one more time.”

“What?” Clint repeated. “Reply to what?”

Phil frowned. “Didn’t you get my note? I had a messenger leave it at the archery range.”

“I, uh, haven’t been there since the ball. Without my bow…” Clint trailed off. “Wait, did you mean what you said? You want to _marry me_?”

“Yes,” said Phil. 

“But… but you can’t. I’m just the second son of a baron, that’s hardly even noble. And besides, you’re the crown prince, Phil, you need to marry someone who can give you an heir.”

“Nobility isn’t a title. And I have an heir. My cousin Daisy has been next in the line of succession since her father died. After the wedding, we’ll have a ceremony to make it official.” He paused. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

“If I…” Clint said, faintly. “Of course. Phil, _of course_.”

Phil grinned and kissed him.

*

“Why didn’t you tell me being Prince Consort would involve so much _paperwork_?” muttered Clint.

From the other side of their shared desk, Phil arched an eyebrow. “If I had, would you have thought twice about marrying me?”

Clint reached to take his hand, clinking their gold wedding bands together. “Never.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, then Phil said, “One of the bards in the market had a new ballad today.”

“Oh?” said Clint. “You usually complain about them being sappy and unrealistic.”

“That was before I was the star of one.”

His husband looked up again, grinning. “Let me guess, it’s called _The Dashing Prince Defeats Hydra_? No, I know, _The Daring Adventures of Phillip the Brave_?”

“Actually, it was called _Cinderarcher_.”

“Cinder…” repeated Clint, then frowned. “Wait, does that mean _me_?”

“It was really quite flattering. I mean, the bard had no idea we’d been friends before the ball, so he went heavy on the _love at first sight_ angle, but the part about how you saved Mother’s life was very poetic.”

“I wasn’t…” Clint protested.

Phil ignored him. “And I really liked the end, where I searched the whole kingdom to find you.”

“You knew exactly where I was. And you were busy hunting Hydra.”

“You know that and I know that, but the bards don’t know that.”

Clint frowned. “Wait, bards _plural_.”

“I passed a few of them sitting outside the Guild Hall, practicing.”

“Oh, gods…”

Phil smiled and took his hand again. “I _would_ search the whole kingdom for you, if I had to.”

“You are such a sap, Your Highness,” laughed Clint.

“Only around you, _Your Highness_ ,”

“Yeah, I’m still not used to that,” said Clint.

Phil laughed and kissed him. “We’ll work on it.”

THE END


End file.
